Page 77 of The Phyre that Burns
“Good, because I need the father of my child to be healed and whole.”
“The fath—you’re pregnant?” I nodded. “You’re having my baby?”
“I am.”
“C’mere.”
I smiled from ear to ear as I slid from the booth and eased onto his lap. There wasn’t a lot of room, but there was enough room for him to wrap me in his arms and rain kisses all over my face.
“Phyre, we’re in a public place.”
“I don’t give a damn. Why did you have me thinking you were about to leave me?”
“Oh, baby, I was gone, because you really had me fucked up. Luckily, my best friend, my mother, and your sister talked me off the ledge. Devyn and my mother know how much I loved whoyou were thirteen years ago. I want to fall in love with the man you are today.”
“You don’t have to believe me, but I’m already in love with who you are today. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to prove it.”
Two Months Later
The past twomonths had been challenging but necessary. After I agreed to follow the ground rules Ginae laid out, I couldn’t renege, because if nothing else, I was a man of my word.
Once we got her settled back at the condo, I realized how serious she was about her rules. We didn’t spend the night together until I’d secured a therapist, and that took three weeks. After that, she only allowed me to stay at the condo one night each week, and she stayed overnight with me on Saturdaynights. I hated it, but it was one of her boundaries, and I promised to adhere.
The time we spent together when we weren’t working was very intentional. We planned dates, shared old pictures, played board games, put together puzzles, watched old movies, talked about baby names and our future, and sometimes, we’d lie around doing nothing. It was different for me because the only thing I’d ever done with a woman was a quick dinner and sex. I’d barely conversed with them more than the time we spent at dinner.
It took a few weeks of therapy for me to get to the core of why I was there. The first thing we tackled was my feelings about the miscarriage. I wasn’t expecting my first session to be that heavy, but it was needed. That night, Ginae and I cried and consoled each other for hours, and they were the most life-changing hours of my life.
After sharing with my therapist my truth about why I didn’t fuck with my father, why my relationship with my mother was surface-level, and why I had dreams about killing Kavia, my therapist made me take a good look in the mirror.
My main issue was that I blamed everyone else and didn’t take accountability for my part in losing Ginae. It was my parents’ fault for trying to force me into an arranged marriage. It was my father’s fault for arranging that I stay in jail for a month after I beat his ass. It was my mother’s fault for not standing up for me against her husband. It was Kavia’s fault for reaching out to Ginae to tell her about the engagement. Hell, I even blamed Ginae for not giving me the benefit of the doubt.
In my mind, it was everyone’s fault but mine, but my therapist helped me see how wrong I was. Those sessions were brutal and ugly but very necessary. I felt lighter and more open to having hard conversations.
I’d be tested for the first time tonight since I’d begun therapy. I’d limited my contact with my mother to phone calls, I hadn’t had any run-ins with Kavia, and I hadn’t seen my father in several months. Although I felt as if I’d had a lot of aha moments in therapy, I was still a work in progress.
My mother’s sixty-fifth birthday party was tonight, and thankfully, Ginae had agreed to be my date. It was a black-tie affair, so I pulled out another one of my tuxedos. Ginae looked gorgeous, as usual, in a floor-length, black dress that sparkled from top to bottom and had spaghetti straps. My favorite part of the dress was the long split on the left side, showing off her thick, sexy leg.
“Do I look fat?” she asked, turning to face me after spending more time than needed in front of the full-length mirror.
She’d agreed to get dressed at my house so that I wouldn’t have to pick her up since I live closer to the venue.
“No, baby. You don’t look fat. You look beautiful.”
“I probably shouldn’t have worn a fitted dress. I’m at the stage where people can’t tell if I’m pregnant or if I ate too much.”
“Fuck people. I love you in this dress. Let’s go.”
She took one more look in the mirror before grabbing her purse and following me out the door. After helping her into the car, I got behind the wheel, and we were on our way.
“When do you think you’ll be ready to tell your family about the baby?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I want to make sure I’m out of the danger zone.”
“You’re past the twelve week mark, baby. All the ultrasounds we’ve done every week are perfect. You and the baby are progressing as you should. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”
“I’m still nervous.”
“I understand, and I’m not rushing you, but I have an idea for how we can tell them.”
